Through Steely Gray Eyes
by Struggling Writer1
Summary: Draco Malfoy doesn't always appear in HP books, and if he does, usually he only annoys Harry. A look at the parts in the HP books where Harry and Draco interact, and this time, through Draco's perspective.
1. What a Malfoy Deserves

NOTE: Many many thanks to lovestruckbyanelf, Sage and Snape and flutingfrenzy for letting me know I made a really stupid error: Harry's scar is LIGHTNING-SHAPED, not THUNDER-SHAPED. Hehe. I wouldn't have realized it myself. Thanks again guys!

DISCLAIMER: Some of the dialogues in this fic are taken from pp. 77-79 of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. This story shows the first time Harry and Draco meet, just like it was in canon, but this time, in Draco's perspective. Oh, and yeah, Harry, Draco and his family, Hagrid, Madam Malkin and her shop, Hogwarts, Quidditch and everything else are never mine. The name Brigitte is just a made-up name, by the way.

What A Malfoy Deserves

"I think I'll need a bigger one, Madam Malkin," I said, removing the tight-fitting robes around my body and handing them to the pudgy witch dressed in all mauve.  
"Yes, dear," she nodded, smiling as she gathered the bundle of robes in her stout arms. She walked towards the storage room.  
I stifled a yawn. Robe-fitting has always been such a boring task. Good thing Mother is at Ollivanders right now, or it would be twice as bad. Normally she would be around fussing all over me. She took me shopping for robes millions of times already.   
It's dreadful, Draco darling, the color clashes with your eyes.  
Goodness, that one is too shoddy for you. I wouldn't want you to be caught dead wearing that rubbish!  
Madam Malkin came back with a bigger size of the uniform for Hogwarts. She slipped the long robe over my head and pinned it.  
I scrutinized the clothes thoughtfully. Madam Malkin stared at me, waiting for my decision.  
"Hmm... I don't think so. This is too big. I want my uniform just right for me," I stripped the robes off and gave them to Madam Malkin. She was still smiling, but I can see she was exasperated.  
"Brigitte," she called, and a witch appeared from the storage room. Madam Malkin gave the robes to the second witch. " Get Mr. Malfoy a slightly smaller size of these uniforms and attend to him after. A customer is arriving." She nodded to the glass windows, where a boy my age can be seen walking towards the shop.  
Brigitte disappeared into the storage room as the door of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions opened. Madam Malkin was already at the door, greeting the customer.  
"Er, I'm going to buy a uniform," the boy stammered. He wore glasses and he had dark unruly hair, just the kind of hair that would scandalize Mother if he saw me sporting it. I couldn't see him clearly, as he was a bit far and I was standing at the back of the shop.  
Brigitte returned from the storage room with my uniform and started to fit it to me.  
"Hogwarts, dear?" Madam Malkin asked the boy. "Got the lot here--another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."  
The boy nodded, and Madam Malkin led him to the footstool beside mine. I looked at him, trying hard not to look too curious. He was wearing weird clothes. Were they Muggle clothes? I was so bored, I can consider speaking to him even if he were a Mudblood.  
Madam Malkin also slipped a robe over his head. There was something different about the boy, something that told me he wasn't someone common. People don't normally make an impression on me, and it's very unusual that I feel something very extraordinary about someone who just walks in.  
"Hello," I said, trying to make my voice sound cool. "Hogwarts, too?"  
"Yes," he replied.  
How will I know what his last name was? Maybe if I talk about my family he will mention his.  
"My father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands," I drawled. Then I decided to mention Quidditch. Just to show off I have a lot of experience in it. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."  
There was an expression in his face that I couldn't read. He didn't answer.  
"Have you got your own broom?" I asked, hoping he would finally say something.  
"No."  
"Play Quidditch at all?"  
"No."  
He was either bored with the conversation or very very stupid.  
"Well, I do--Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"  
"No."  
Can't he say anything else but no?  
"Well no one really knows until they get there, do they?" I asked, but I didn't pause for a reply. "But I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been--imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" I made a disgusted face as the thought of being in Hufflepuff crossed my mind.  
"Mmm," the boy only said.  
Aloof, isn't he? I can't believe someone would snub a Malfoy this way.  
A horrible-looking half-giant with appalling hair was standing by the window outside the shop, holding two large ice creams. "I say, look at that man!" I exclaimed, snorting derisively as I nodded to the window.  
"That's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts." The boy seemed to like the monster. Any good impression that I might have had of him was fading away.  
"Oh. I've heard of him. He's sort of a servant, isn't he?" I turned to the boy to look at him. Sweat was poring on his forehead because of the heat, the robes being thick and heavy, plus the warmth of the early August temperature.   
"He's the gamekeeper."  
"Yes, exactly. I've heard he's a sort of savage--lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed," I smirked,   
"I think he's brilliant," he said flatly as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. What I saw surprised the world out of me. But I wonder if I really saw it, because it was all so fast.  
He had a lighting-shaped scar on his forehead.  
Could he beno, he couldn't be. He's friends with Hagrid, the hideous giant of a gamekeeper. But then again, there's still the possibility. Asking wasn't an option. I wouldn't want to sound like some deranged fan of his if I do something like ask if he happened to be Harry Potter.  
"Do you?" I said disdainfully. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?" I asked, hoping to steer the conversation to his family.  
"They're dead," he answered, sounding like he didn't want to talk more.  
"Oh, sorry," I replied absent-mindedly. Dead, eh? Well, there's a clue. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"  
"They were witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."  
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" I kept talking to continue our conversation. Maybe he would reveal his identity if I succeed in getting him to talk. "They're just not the same. They've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter. Imagine."  
The boy wasn't saying anything, so I decided I should ask outright. "I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"  
"That's you done, my dear," Madam Malkin interrupted our rather one-sided chat. The mysterious boy stepped off the stool and got ready to leave. Oh, perfect timing, that tubby old witch has.  
"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," I tried to sound apathetic, but I was staring at him as he walked away.  
He was Harry Potter. He had to be. That's why I sensed something different about him.  
Well, Father wouldn't exactly be skipping with joy if he knew I would want to hang around with The Boy Who Lived. He wasn't exactly happy that the Dark Lord suddenly disappeared to Merlin-knows-where in the peak of his power, thanks to the famous Harry Potter, who probably did nothing but cry when the Dark Lord was about to kill him. But Father himself said we should only pick two kinds of friends, the ones who are powerful, and the ones we can easily control. Harry Potter surely belonged to the first kind. He had to be powerful to be able to be the cause of the defeat of the Dark Lord.  
He was pretty snobbish, but that will change when he finds out who I am. I will teach him to steer clear of the likes of that revolting Hagrid.  
What house would he be in? With that kind of power, he'd probably end up in Slytherin, just like I would be. Someone like me deserves to be only with those with glory, fame and power. And if he thinks likewise, we'd be ruling Hogwarts together. We are above everyone, after all. Being Harry Potter's friend could also be a help to Father, if ever the Dark Lord suddenly materializes again, which is highly likely.  
I realized I was standing on the footstool for ages. Madam Malkin's assistant was looking at me expectantly.  
"I guess this will do," I said dismissively. "It fits right. But no, wait. I don't like the feel of it, and there are too many stray threads in it."  
I took off the robes and tossed them to the witch, who gave a tired sigh. Well, I'm a Malfoy. I deserve to be waited on hand and foot.  



	2. Friendships Made at Hogwarts Express

NOTE: Many many thanks to lovestruckbyanelf, Sage and Snape and flutingfrenzy for letting me know I made a really stupid error: Harry's scar is LIGHTNING-SHAPED, not THUNDER-SHAPED. Hehe. I wouldn't have realized it myself. Thanks again guys! And thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. The reviews mean a lot to me.

DISCLAIMER: A large part of this story takes some scenes and dialogues from pp. 108-109 of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Since I'm so so afraid of being sued, I really stress that Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Crabbe, Goyle, Hogwarts Express and even Scabbers the Rat is never mine. Everything is owned by the Greater Force (read: J.K. Rowling).

This fic tells the story of the second time Harry and Draco meet (and the first time they fight) aboards Hogwarts Express, just like it was in canon, but through Draco's perspective.

Friendships Made at Hogwarts Express

"Harry Potter is in one of the compartments in this train!"  
"Really? He's here?"  
"So you mean, he's also going to Hogwarts with us!"  
"Wicked! What'cha think he looks like?"  
"What do you think his scar looks like?"  
"Lightning-shaped, you prat. Everyone knows it's lightning-shaped."  
I stopped staring at the houses and trees that flashed past the window and stared at the half-open door of my compartment. Three boys had just passed by, talking loudly about the subject of the day: Harry Potter. They weren't the first lot to gossip about him. I've been hearing murmurs of his name for the past ten minutes. It must be true that he really is in here.  
I remembered the boy I saw at the robe shop last month. After that meeting I was a little convinced he was Harry Potter. I'll find out a little later.  
The compartment door slid fully open and two familiar-looking boys came in. One was slightly taller than the other, but they were both burly and stupid-looking.  
I already saw both of them from some of the dinner parties Father makes me attend. They do nothing but stay beside the buffet table. What were their names? Father knows their families. The other wasCrad? No, I think his last name sounds like some sea creature. And the other was perhaps Boyle? No, something that rhymes with Boyle.  
They both looked at me, then at each other. They scratched the backs of their thick heads, not daring to be the first to speak to me.  
Then I remembered their names.  
"Crabbe, Goyle." I nodded at them, not moving an inch from where I sat.  
"Er, you remember us?" the taller one asked.  
Yes, I do remember even the pitiful ones like yourselves, I wanted to say out loud. Whatever comes through my mind stays there, they don't seep out of my brain like it's made of sponge.  
"Um, we can we, erm, sit with you?" the other one stammered.  
I furrowed my eyebrows, seriously considering if I'll let them get within three feet of me. They seem to have enormous respect for me, Father is friends with their families and they'll do anything I tell them to.  
"Okay," I drawled, waving my hand carelessly. Crabbe (or was it Goyle?) sat on my left side and the other sat on my right.  
I may not be able to have intelligent conversations and heated debates with them, but I can get friends who I can call as my equals. Which reminds me of Harry Potter.  
"What house do you think you'll be in?" the one on my left asked slowly.  
""Slytherin, of course," I answered with great assurance.  
"I hope I'll also be a Slytherin," the other said expectantly.  
I doubt it if these duffers have enough cunning to be sorted to Slytherin house. Then again, they don't seem to be the hard-working type to get into Hufflepuff. Never mind expecting they'll be smart Ravenclaws or brave and righteous Gryffindors.  
"Have you heard? Harry Potter's in this train!"  
"Yeah, they all say he stays near the end of the train."  
I stood up. "Let's pay him a visit then," I declared.  
"Butwe just sat down here," the shorter one protested. The taller one nudged the other, and they both stood up to follow me. I slid open the compartment door, sauntering through the corridor of Hogwarts Express with Crabbe and Goyle behind me. The other students stood aside when we passed by.  
I chose one of the last compartments and opened the door. I entered the compartment with one burly friend at each side and found the same boy I saw in Madam Malkin's shop. I wasn't surprised to find out he was really Harry Potter.   
Sweets were all over the seats, and he was sitting across another boy with red hair.  
I looked at the boy with dark hair and glasses, not bothering to hide my curiosity. Emerald green eyes looked back at me behind the glasses. He had an expression in his face that was hard to read.  
"Is it true?" I stepped forward a bit. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"  
His green eyes left mine and traveled to look at my companions. "Yes," he answered, his attention on Crabbe and Goyle.  
"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle." I nodded toward them, wishing I didn't need to introduce them. "And my name's Malfoy," I placed great emphasis on my renowned last name. "Draco Malfoy."  
The boy across Harry Potter made a sound that was something between a laugh and a cough. I gave him full attention for the first time. And I can tell who he was right away.  
"Think my name's funny, do you?" I said scathingly, insulted that he would dare snigger after I introduced myself. He'll have a piece of me. "No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford." The Weasley boy glared in anger.  
I turned back to Harry Potter. "You'll find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter." I looked at him calculatingly. He may look average on the exterior, but I can unmistakably tell he has his unusual aura. The first time I saw him in the robe shop, I knew he had this atmosphere of power around him. He can make a worthy ally, maybe someone I can even consider an equal.  
"You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." I offered my hand for him to shake. It was the first time I did it to someone my own age.  
But he didn't shake my hand. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," Potter said in a nonchalant voice, something almost like a smirk forming in his lips.  
I felt my face heat up in disgrace. How impudent can he get! Refusing to shake a Malfoy's hand and turning down my friendship, in front of my friends at that! I tried to look composed. If Father finds out I stooped this low...  
I chose my words, wanting to hurt him back. "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter."  
Insult his family. Insult his friends. That will very much offend him. Just like he offended me. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."  
Both Potter and Weasley stood up, glowering at me angrily.  
"Say that again," Weasley threatened, his freckled face making his red hair seem pale in comparison.  
The sight of Weasley made me smirk. "Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" I asked smugly.  
"Unless you get out now," Potter said firmly, but his eyes were considering the size of Crabbe and Goyle.  
The two dimwits weren't so useless after all. Let's see Potter and his little friend shoo me away with the two giants with me. "But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys?"  
I wanted to show Potter I had more power than he thinks he has. He's just Harry Potter. Just Potter. He has no right to think he's better than me.  
The one I presume as Goyle headed for the pile of sweets beside Weasley, who was brave and stupid enough to jump forward. The two weren't even touching each other when Goyle screamed in pain. Hanging on his knuckles was a slimy old rat, biting deep into his fist.  
I squirmed in disgust as I watched Goyle spin to rid himself of the rat. I stood back, not wanting to be hit with the filthy thing. A rat? What were they doing with a rat? Maybe they were staying in a rodent-infested compartment.  
Goyle kept on yelling and only stopped when the rat flew and hit the window. I moved towards the door, and Crabbe and Goyle, of course, followed. I can't have grisly rats running all over me. We exited the compartment. Walking towards it was a girl with bushy brown hair. She gave us an annoyed look as she entered Potter's compartment.  
"What **_has_** been going on?" I can hear her ask in a bossy voice.  
We walked back to our own compartment, Goyle tending to his wounded knuckles.  
I wanted to stay, wanted to tell Potter what a big mistake he just made, wanting to make sure he'll regret turning me down, turning a Malfoy down. I have seven years to go. That is, if I don't find a way to get him expelled.  



	3. Things Learned in Flying Lessons

DISCLAIMER (Please, please read, because I'm scared of getting suedbut ha! Who would take notice of this fic and go through all the trouble?): Draco and Harry are not mine (too bad), so are Crabbe and Goyle (but who cares?). J.K. Rowling owns everything, blah blah blah, I'm sure you've read enough fanfics so I don't think I have to expound. 

Author's Note: This was only supposed to be a one-shot fic, but I was enjoying working with Draco so much that I thought he deserved more. I'm thinking of working on every scene in canon where Draco appeared. Just the ones where he played a considerable part, anyway. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. You guys are the reason why I found the strength to continue this.  
Aaargh! I'm getting this strong feeling that Draco thinks too old for an eleven-year old. Harry thinks too old for an eleven-year old, I figured, so that's okay.

Another note: Thanks to PyroKitty for letting me know I made a little mistake, got it corrected now, though. I keep on making mistakes. Too anxious to upload that I never bother to double-check.

Things Learned in Flying Lessons 

It was a Thursday morning, and it was one of those mornings that I was in my most delighted mood. Having witnessed Potter being embarrassed in Potions class, seeing him getting no mail from this morning's Owl Post while I knew he saw me getting many packages of treats from home, and learning we were have flying lessons with Gryffindors this afternoon. Potter, who grew up with Muggles all his life, surely have never even touched a broomstick. I have been practicing flying since I was young, although no one really taught me and all I used for practice was one of Father's old broomsticks. I would like to see Potter make a fool of himself. This was how life should be, seeing things go my way.  
Turning down my friendship wasn't really the last straw. I could have forgiven him for that, if he would apologize properly when he finds out how mistaken he was. After all, being very picky with friends was something I admire. But when he was sorted in Gryffindor, I just knew we were meant to be rivals. And now I'm really starting to love the way our relationship worked.  
I stood up from the Slytherin table after breakfast. Naturally, Crabbe and Goyle also stood up to follow me. We passed by the Gryffindor table on purpose, near Potter and his little friends.  
"Gran knows I forget things--this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red--oh..." A stumpy Gryffindor was holding a large glass ball that turned scarlet. He was also a student Professor Snape humiliated in Potions class. Neville Longbottom. How can I forget the name of someone so unbelievably clumsy and pitiful? "...you've forgotten something..." he told himself, disappointed, trying to remember what it was he forgot.  
I smirked, amused, plucking the glass ball from his hand. The scarlet color faded away. I've never had one of these before. Not that I need some toy that would remind me that I forgot something. I'm not as careless and clumsy as Longbottom was.  
Daring and honorable little Potter stood up, together with his Weasley friend. I can see the look on their faces. They wanted a fight just as much as I did. They were even glad for the excuse to pick up a fight. I sneered. Potter was acting exactly as I wished he would.  
"What's going on?" a reprimanding voice asked. Potter, Weasley, Longbottom and I turned and were faced by a stern-looking Professor McGonagall.  
"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Longbottom said, and McGonagall gave me an austere look. What a spineless tattletale, that Longbottom.  
I threw the stupid glass ball at the table. "Just looking," I muttered with a scowl. I walked away from the Gryffindor table, Crabbe and Goyle mindlessly following me. Naturally.

It was three-thirty in the afternoon. My fellow Slytherins and I were already on the lawn on the opposite side of grounds to the forbidden forest, ready for our flying lessons. The Gryffindors arrived a little later, and so did Madam Hooch, who looked positively male to me with her short gray hair and hawk-like eyes.  
Twenty broomsticks were lined up on the grounds. Twenty old and substandard broomsticks. I wish we were allowed to have our own broomsticks so I wouldn't have to put up with the feeble things.  
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" Hooch yelled. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."  
We all rushed to a broom and stood beside it. I could see everyone's faces that silently complained how old the brooms were.  
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," Hooch instructed. But I already I knew this. "and say, 'Up!'"  
"UP!" came the loud yell of the nineteen other students. I, however, only lazily drawled the word while holding my hand over the broom, which quickly obeyed. The broom jumped towards my hand, and I stretched my palm to catch it.  
I looked at how the others were doing. I was surprised to see that Potter got lucky and were one of the few others who got his broom obeying him right away. After we waited for everyone to get their brooms to jump into their hands, which took ages for Neville Longbottom, Hooch showed us how to mount into our brooms.  
I confidently placed the broomstick between my legs and gripped on the handle. Madam Hooch walked up and down the row of students to correct them if they had errors. She stopped in front of me.  
"Not that way. This is the way you do it," she made me set my grip on the broom right, but I don't see anything wrong with it.  
"I've been flying for years." I glared at her.  
"Then you've been doing it wrong all along."  
I scowled at Potter and Weasley when I saw them looking very pleased.  
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard." Hooch grasped the whistle that hung on her neck. "Keep your brooms steady, rise on your feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly." Everyone did as she instructed. "On my whistle -- three -- two --"  
Before Hooch could blow the whistle, she was interrupted by a broom that shot up to the air, carrying a scared Longbottom.  
"Come back, boy!" she called, but she was wasting her voice. Longbottom was about twenty feet up, he was looking down with a face drained of blood, his mouth wide with nervousness. And just to make sure we would really think he's such a buffoon, he _slipped_ off the broom and fell down to the floor, facedown. I thought I heard a bone crunch, but I was busy watching the broom he was riding on just seconds ago. It was going higher and higher, then disappeared to the Forbidden Forest, which wasn't very far from where we were right now.  
"Broken wrist," Hooch noted when she was checking on Longbottom. "Come on, boy -- it's all right, up you get."  
She turned to us after she helped the duffer to his feet. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear," she ordered, putting an arm around the crying Longbottom.  
We all watched them walk away, and when I was positive Hooch would no longer hear me, I laughed. "Did you see his face, the great lump?" I sniggered. My fellow Slytherins also broke into laughter.  
"Shut up, Malfoy," a Gryffindor frowned at me. She was quite pretty, for a Gryffindor.  
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy Parkinson retorted, even before I could open my mouth for the reply that I had in mind. "Never though _ you'd_ like fat little crybabies, Parvati." If Pansy's family weren't a friend of Father's, and if she weren't a Slytherin, I would easily call her ugly. Why weren't the girls in my house as pretty as the ones in the other houses?  
Something shining in the ground caught my attention. "Look!" I picked up the Remembrall on the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."  
"Give that here, Malfoy," Harry said in a low but threatening voice. Everyone looked at him, surprised. I, however, wasn't the least bit surprised. I knew it would be just the kind of thing he would be doing.  
I answered him with a smile that I trained hard to look vindictive. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find." My brain was quickly thinking up of a plan. "How about-- up a tree?"  
"Give it _here_!" Harry shouted this time, advancing towards me. But I already managed to jump into a broom to fly away.  
I flew to one of the highest branches of a nearby oak tree and yelled, "Come and get it, Potter!"  
I knew he would fly up here to get the Remembrall from me. Now it's your turn to look foolish, Harry Potter. At least Longbottom won't be so alone in the hospital wing.  
Harry rushed to a broom, forgetting that he'd never used one before. Just as I expected.  
"_No!_" Even from afar I can hear a bossy voice command. It was the voice of the same girl I passed by on the train to Hogwarts. Hermione Granger. She's such a know-it-all, she annoys me everytime her hand shoots up in the air whenever the teacher asks a question. She's the only witch in her family, only her endless reading of books equips her with the knowledge she needs.  
"Madam Hooch told us not to move--you'll get us all into trouble," Granger nagged on, but Potter wasn't paying attention to her.  
He leapt into his broom and soared into the air, and he looked like he'd been doing it forever. His broom flew with no sign of quivering. He didn't look the least bit nervous, he even looked thrilled that he was up dozens of feet in the air. He got whoops of admiration from friends and startled gasps and cries from girls. How come _nobody_ praised _me_ when I flew, when I'd been doing just as excellently as Potter did?  
Potter was now facing me, his broomstick floating in front of mine. I gawked at him, still surprised.  
"Give it here, or I'll knock you off your broom," he said firmly.  
"Oh, yeah?" I did my best to look arrogant.  
Of course he was good with using a broomstick. He has to be. His father James Potter was a Quidditch legend in Hogwarts. How can I forget?  
Potter suddenly manned his broom so it would shoot directly into me. Still taken by surprise, I roughly managed to dash out of the way. He smoothly and quickly turned to face me. Potter's fans were clapping below.  
"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy." There was something in his smile that mirrored the superiority I felt just a while ago.  
My eyebrows furrowed. No Crabbe and Goyle? Does he think I only feel strong when those two empty heaps of brawn are around? He thinks he's so above me! He thinks he's such a deity, mounted on a broomstick, being clapped for by adoring Gryffindors. I wanted to smash the glass ball on his face, but I decided against that and planned to do something else. Let's see what he can do about it.  
"Catch it if you can, then!" I shouted as I threw the Remembrall to the wind. I zoomed back to the ground, wanting to see how he would look from below. I was also playing safe, just in case the teacher was coming back. Crabbe and Goyle popped to my side just as soon as I touched the ground.  
Naturally, Potter made his broom dive to the ground to catch the Remembrall to keep it from shattering to miniscule pieces. He stretched his hand, catching the glass ball in time before it reached the ground. He landed safely on the ground. A normal flyer would crash on the grass after flying with that speed. I have to admit, he was good.  
"HARRY POTTER!" An angry voice screamed. The head of the Gryffindor house, Professor McGonagall was rushing towards him, indignant. Potter looked terrified. It was such a precious picture.  
"_Never_--in all my time at Hogwarts--how _dare_ you--might have broken your neck--" McGonagall looked more shocked than Potter did. If I didn't know better, I would say she was just hiding her amazement by pretending to look furious. But the old cow never lets students get by with breaking the rules, she even deducts points from her own house, unlike Professor Snape who goes so easy on us.  
The Gryffindors all talked at once, explaining Potter's actions. McGonagall quieted them all and dragged Potter back to the castle. For a fleeting moment he looked at me. I sniggered automatically. Hooch said any student caught using the brooms without her will be expelled, but who would believe her? Maybe a thousand points taken from Gryffindor, a day of detention or two, but it would take so much more to get rid of Potter.  
I didn't feel as happy as Crabbe and Goyle looked. They must have thought Potter would be expelled from Hogwarts, the prats. But there was an empty feeling inside me. All the trouble I went through, and I only proved that Harry Potter would make a great Quidditch player. He made me doubt my own skills. He made me ask myself if I'm never the person I used to think I am, blessed with everything and above it all. And he made me wonder if I also made him feel this insecurity burning inside me, because I have a strong notion that he doesn't.

  



	4. Chapter Four

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns everything. I'm just someone who couldn't get enough of Draco Malfoy. Writing disclaimers is getting more and more tiring by the second.

Author's Note: This is the part where Draco challenges Harry to a duel, but he has no plans of showing up. A very very short chapter. Can't think of a title for this one, though.

I watched Potter at the Gryffindor table, eating dinner while talking with Weasley. He even looked happy and excited, not like someone who has to suffer detention. Something was wrong.  
The Weasley twins hurried up to them. They were all in high spirits. Potter definitely got away with his recent rule-breaking, even after being caught in the act by McGonagall. She was head of their house, what would you expect. She would favor Potter of course.  
I suddenly thought of a plan that will make sure he won't get away this time.  
"Crabbe, Goyle," I called, standing up. "Let's have a little talk with Potter."  
They were still eating, but they followed me anyway.  
We headed to the Gryffindor table. The Weasley twins had just left.  
Potter had an annoyed look in his face.  
"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"  
"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," he said complacently.  
Crabbe and Goyle, little? If**_ they_** were little, then Potter would almost be non-existent.  
"I'd take you on anytime on my own." I was now determined to execute the brilliant plan in my head. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only--no contact."  
I could see a momentary look of confusion cross Potter's features, but it didn't last long.  
"What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel, I suppose?" It was my turn to act smug.  
"Of course he has," Ron Weasley joined in. "I'm his second, who's yours?"  
"Crabbe," I said lazily, wanting to tell Weasley I have no need for a second. "Midnight, all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."  
I gave them a curt nod before I turned to leave, Crabbe and Goyle flanked beside me. I could hear Potter's voice asking Weasley, "What _**is**_ a wizard's duel?" Of course he wouldn't know. But he didn't need to. He won't be having any of it. However, he's in store of something else. And this time, he won't get away.  
"Crabbe, Goyle, let's pay a visit to our slimy git of a head janitor." I smiled as we headed up the stairs. "I'm sure he would be glad to know a certain Potter and Weasley are going to run around school this midnight."  
Crabbe and Goyle just laughed. Sometimes I wish I would have someone to really talk to, not just have companions who will laugh and nod and agree to everything I say. It was tiring to not have friends who can react intelligently to the things I tell them, friends who I can have long talks with about devious schemes and brilliant plans.  
My own plan of tipping Potter and Weasley off to Filch didn't sound so great now. It now seemed to be just a thing a low and desperate person would do. But I'm not a Gryffindor anyway. No time to pretend to be noble and righteous like Potter.   
I'm a Slytherin, after all. That was enough excuse.  



End file.
